


Every Cloud

by Blondie54x



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 07:37:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16949766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/pseuds/Blondie54x
Summary: While waiting for rescue after being shipwrecked on an uninhabited island, Napoleon ponders how best to tell Illya how he feels.Story prompts: Sudden and scary storm, a touch or so angst, and a silly innocent (not too annoying)—possibly with misplaced designs on one (or both?) of our heroes...Any rating—whatever you feel the story merits.





	Every Cloud

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selyndae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/selyndae/gifts).



> Not reviewed by a beta, therefore any inaccuracies - geographical, meteorological or otherwise - are the sole responsibility of the author.

_Somewhere on Maui…._

It had seemed like their only choice at the time; they needed to get away, the boat was sitting there and their pursuers were right on their tail. It wouldn’t have been Illya’s choice, not by a long shot. His stint in the Russian Navy had left him with an intense dislike of the sea. Given a choice, he would have preferred to stand his ground and fight. Napoleon, however, senior by two years and with an innocent young lady in tow, ordered them onto the small ketch at the end of the floating dock and cast off before jumping aboard.

Illya went straight to the small wheel house, studying the controls.

“Can you get it going?” Napoleon asked, coming up behind him.

“Find me some wire,” Illya replied without looking up.

Napoleon looked around for possibilities. A lamp on the desk looked a likely candidate. He took out his penknife and cut off the cord, stripping the sheath to expose the wire. He handed it to Illya and left him doing what he did best before moving to the wheelhouse door. He peered out over the back of the boat, dismayed to see a familiar black car appear through the gates, its tyres screeching as it turned sharply into the marina, approaching fast.

“Illya,” he said, his tone conveying a sense of urgency.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

The car reached the end of the long, wooden dock and discharged two heavy-set, angry looking men.

“Anytime you’re ready,” Napoleon shouted at Illya as the men ran down the dock.

“Shut up, Napoleon.”

The men were three boat-lengths away when the engine roared into life. Napoleon turned back into the wheelhouse and took the helm, turning the boat away from the dock just as the men reached the now empty berth. He cheekily sketched a salute to the two brawny thugs as they looked on in frustration and felt the tension in his shoulders relax as they put some distance between them and their pursuers.

Napoleon turned to his partner and grinned; another timely escape. Illya leaned back against the console and folded his arms, a cocky smile on his face.

As the boat headed out into deeper water, bouncing on the waves, Illya began to get anxious and started to pace. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate the sea?”

Napoleon noticed the tension in Illya’s voice, but shook his head. “I think you may have mentioned it a thousand times or so.”

“We should keep the land in sight,” Illya suggested, uneasy as the rocky shore began to dwindle into the distance.

Napoleon understood Illya’s concern. He knew about Illya’s close call on a Russian submarine, but he had to be practical. “If we keep the land in sight, they can keep us in sight.” He glanced at his worried partner. “It won’t be for long. We’ll pull in when it’s safe.”

“Where are we going,” the woman with them asked.

Napoleon started, forgetting for the moment she was there. He’d had to bring her along. Tammy Lee had been held hostage by her former boyfriend, Kale Kekoa. Napoleon and his partner had been after Kekoa’s accounts books, but had come away with Tammy instead. As innocents go, Tammy wasn’t too bad. She was pretty, a little scatter-brained, but had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Napoleon had insisted they take her along; Illya would have been happier to leave her on the dock.

“I’ll let you know when we get there,” Napoleon answered, not having a clue where they currently where.

She nudged him. “Do you have a comb?”

Napoleon glanced at her, momentarily disarmed by her question. “A comb?”

“Yes. My hair is a mess.” She glanced over at Illya who was currently rummaging through cupboards and drawers. “I want to fix it.”

Napoleon, who never went anywhere without a comb, reached into his pocket and passed her his, watching with amusement as she tried to rearrange and back comb her locks using the glass window pane as a mirror. Once satisfied with her appearance, she handed the comb back to Napoleon and turned to Illya, who was crouched down, sifting through a cupboard’s contents. “How do I look?”

“Like a million dollars,” he replied, tonelessly, without looking up. She beamed back at him, apparently unaware of his indifference.

“I’d settle for fifty bucks, but thanks.” She leaned back against the console, close to Illya, so she could see him better. “What are you doing?”

“Looking,” he replied. Napoleon rolled his eyes. Illya didn’t mean to be rude, he just had no patience for answering obvious questions.

Once Illya had found nothing of interest – or anything edible - he stood, folding his arms across his chest and stuck his chin in the air as he tried to look both aloof and indifferent to her scrutiny of him. Napoleon smiled to himself; Illya seemed unaware that playing hard to get only made women like Tammy more determined.

She tried a kittenish look, curling a lock of her hair around her finger as she looked up at him under lowered eyelashes. “I love your accent. What is that, French?”

Illya’s left eyebrow rose. “Ukrainian.”

Tammy waved a hand as if brushing away a thought. “I have no idea where Ukrainea is.”

“It’s Ukraine and it’s part of the USSR.”

Her eyes widened. “Really? Gosh. You’re well-travelled, huh?”

“I get around,” Illya’s said with a shrug.

She tugged down the hem of her dress and pushed out her chest. “I’d like to travel one day. Maui is the furthest I’ve ever been…”

She talked animatedly, a monologue about her teenage dreams of becoming an air hostess, and Napoleon listened with half an ear. He exchanged an amused glance with Illya who was feigning interest, though Napoleon knew he was humoring her for the distraction. Tammy, however, ignorant of Illya’s lack of engagement, nonetheless prattled on.

They’d been travelling about thirty minutes, when the engine started to cough and finally spluttered to a stop. “Great,” Napoleon said. “We’re out of gas.”

“Didn’t you check the tank?” Tammy said.

Napoleon gritted his teeth. “We were in kind of a hurry.”

Anxious, Illya moved to his side. “We can still use the sails, can’t we?”

“We’ll have to. It should be safe enough to head back by now…Uh-oh…”

Illya turned sharply towards him. “What? What, Napoleon?”

Napoleon gestured towards the bow, directing his attention to an ominous, broad column of black cloud reaching from the sea to the sky. The boat had become noticeably more active in the last few minutes as the wind began to pick up, rocking it from side to side.

“Is that what I think it is?” Illya asked.

Napoleon cocked his head. “If you think that it’s a squall headed our way, than yes. That’s going to make it harder to use the sails.” He pointed ahead of them. “I can see land over there, looks like an island. We’ll have to hope we can outrun the storm before it hits us.”

Illya reached out a hand to steady himself as the rocking became more intense. “Do you think we can we make it?”

“We can only try.”

Illya blew out an audible breath. “I’ll be glad when this mission is over,” he groused. “We’ve been shot at, lost vital information and ended up in the middle of the ocean. What else could possibly go wrong?”

A loud crack resounded through the hull and the wheel went slack under Napoleon’s hands. Experimentally, he spun it but the boat didn’t respond. He groaned. “You and your big mouth. It feels like the rudder’s gone.”

Illya leaned over the console, staring out the window at the darkening sky. “Is there anything we can do? Can we fix it?” Illya asked, concern evident in his voice. Napoleon regarded him grimly, wishing he had better news.

“We might if we had time. For now, we’re in the lap of the Gods.”

“I hope they won’t hold it against me for being an atheist,” Illya muttered, looking through the window on one side before crossing the floor to check out the other side. Napoleon wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but was reminded of a caged panther, trapped and looking for a way to escape.

The boat heaved, suddenly, throwing Tammy into Illya. She uttered a surprised ‘oh’, before clinging to him. He put his arm around her; Napoleon suspected it was as much for his own comfort as for hers.

“The weather’s getting worse,” Illya said, unnecessarily.

“Squalls can hit suddenly. Let’s hope we can ride this one out without too much damage.”

Napoleon tried to peer out of the window, but visibility was fast becoming limited as rain began to pelt heavily against the glass. He could see that the island was closer now, strong winds luckily blowing them towards it, its white sands just about visible through the grey of the rain. Near enough to swim to, if it became necessary.

Gingerly, Napoleon staggered to the rear of the boat and came back with two life jackets. He tossed one to Tammy and the other to Illya. “Put these on,” he said, raising his voice over the whistling wind.

Illya stood holding his. “Where’s yours?”

“There’s only two. If the worst comes to the worst, I’ll stay with Tammy, share her buoyancy aid.”

“Why don’t you take this jacket and I’ll stay with Tammy?”

“That would be okay,” Tammy said quickly.

Napoleon ignored her. “Because that’s my decision. Put it on.”

Illya shoved his lifejacket at Napoleon. “I’m a better swimmer than you.”

“Not in this squall you’re not.”

Tammy butted in. “Boys, boys. No need to fight over me.”

Both men stared at her a moment, then Napoleon shoved the jacket back at Illya. “Just do as I say, Illya. There’s no time for heroics.” He turned, helping Tammy into the lifejacket. When he turned around, Illya was still standing with the jacket in his hand. “That’s an order, Kuryakin!” Napoleon barked.

Illya glared at him. “Fine. But I’m registering my objection.”

“Duly noted, now get the damn jacket on!”

The storm was directly overhead, now, releasing its full fury on the ship below. The wind screamed and the sea heaved, tossing the boat around like a helpless leaf in a babbling brook.

The boat took a pounding from a large wave port-side and listed forty five degrees before righting itself. “Another hit like that and she’ll go over!” Napoleon shouted. He struggled to remain upright as waves broke over the deck and water poured into the wheelhouse around their feet.

Napoleon tapped Illya on the shoulder to get his attention. “We need to get out on deck in case she goes over! We don’t want to be trapped in here if she goes down!” He held onto Tammy’s jacket as he pushed her towards the railing of the boat, looking back to make sure Illya was following.

Tammy screamed , “I can’t swim!”

“You’re wearing a lifejacket! Just hold on to me! Don’t let go. We can make it to the island.” He wound the end of the strap on her jacket tightly around his hand, hoping it would be enough. Water crashed against them, soaking them to the skin, the driving rain like needles against their exposed faces. They clung to the railing as the ship rode up a big wave before crashing down the other side.

Illya was chewing a nail and Napoleon saw something he rarely saw in his partner – fear. Illya was a good swimmer. He’d been sure to learn following a near death experience at sea. Napoleon had no doubt this situation was bringing back some nightmarish memories for him.

He pulled Illya to him and hooked a hand behind his neck, pulling him close. He leaned his forehead against Illya’s. “Hey. We’ll be okay. Don’t we always make it?”

Illya bit his bottom lip, but nodded. “I trust you.”

Napoleon turned away. He didn’t deserve Illya’s trust, but if it gave Illya hope, he’d happily accept the responsibility.

The boat lurched again, listing to starboard. This time, though, it didn’t right itself but continued rolling over, disgorging its passengers into the water. For a moment, below the waves, there was a few seconds of quiet before Napoleon broke the surface, coughing to expel the water he’d almost swallowed. He flicked his hair out of his eyes and pulled Tammy towards him. She clung to his back as he struggled to keep his head above the turbulent sea.

The boat was on its side, the sails floating on the surface. He looked around, but Illya was nowhere in sight. He turned around, panicked, but was unable to see another orange jacket in the churning water. Tammy’s cry and the grip on his neck brought his attention back to her. He had to get her to land, get them safely out of the sea and trust that Illya could take care of himself. He kicked his feet and stroked his way in the direction of the island, all the while glancing about, hoping to spot his partner in the undulating water.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been swimming, but as soon as he felt shingle beneath his feet, he pushed up the beech, dragging Tammy with him. He left her there, still half in and half out of the water, shivering and scared, before turning back. He waded back in, trying to swipe water from his face as he tried to see through the driving rain, hoping to see his bedraggled partner’s head bobbing somewhere in the angry sea.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and called out Illya’s name. He knew it was useless to shout - the wind took his voice away as soon as the words left his lips. Dread and fear tightened his chest. He felt helpless, standing knee deep in the cold, choppy water, wanting to dive in and search for his friend and knowing how reckless and pointless such an action would be in the vastness of the ocean. He ran shaking hands through drenched hair, trying to tamp down the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t lose Illya, he simply couldn’t.

“Please, Illya,” he said to himself. “Don’t do this to me.” His breathing started to come hard, hyperventilating with panic. He shouldn’t have left him. What if he didn’t make it? What if he’s been swallowed by the sea, never to be found. He couldn’t bear the thought that Illya might die that way, lungs filled with briny water, a victim of his worst fear. He refused to consider it. He couldn’t function if he did and he still had Tammy to look after. _Please, please don’t leave me…._

He dimly registered Tammy’s high-pitched voice from behind him and turned to look at her. She was on the beach, jumping up and down, waving to his right. He saw it then, when the swell topped out, something bobbing in the water; a splash of orange in the dark grey of the sea.   He splashed back to the shore and ran up the beach before wading back in and swimming towards his partner, battling fearlessly against the power of the ocean. He reached Illya a couple of minutes later, unresponsive and with blood running through his hair and down the side of his face to be washed away by the sea. Napoleon put a hand under Illya’s chin and swam back to shore.

Tammy paddled into the water as he neared, helping him to get his unconscious partner out of the water and onto the beach. He stretched him out on the sand and put his fingers against his neck. A pulse, fast and strong; Napoleon was almost sick with relief. He removed Illya’s life jacket and ran his hands skillfully over slack limbs, chest and ribs; no sign of any breaks. The head wound had already stopped bleeding, but the surrounding tissue was raised and red. He was going to have quite a bruise tomorrow and, he suspected, one hell of a headache.

Preoccupied, he hadn’t noticed the rain had slowed to a stop. It was the silence that alerted him. He looked up at the sky; the broad column of black cloud was moving on, the wind beginning to lessen, the grey sky starting to brighten. That was the nature of squalls; here one minute, gone the next.

He pulled off his sodden jacket and bunched it up, putting it under Illya’s head. He gently stroked his hand against his cheek. “Illya? Illya, c’mon. Can you hear me?” He let out a thankful breath when Illya’s eyes fluttered open and he began to cough. Napoleon rolled him onto his side to allow him to vomit up the sea water he’d swallowed.

Illya groaned and rolled over onto his back, raising a hand to his head. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“More like a boat.” Napoleon gently pushed Illya’s hair aside to check his wound. The cut to his temple wasn’t deep and it didn’t look like it needed stiches. All in all, Illya had escaped relatively unharmed, if you discounted the near drowning.

“How do you feel?”

Illya considered the question for a few seconds. “Hungry.”

Napoleon chuckled with relief. If Illya was thinking about his stomach, he was probably in no danger. “You’re okay.” He reached out and softly ruffled Illya’s hair, getting the predictable glower.

“Where are we?” Illya asked, looking around.

“On an island somewhere east of Maui.”

“That narrows it down, thank you.”

“Listen,” Napoleon grumbled. “We made it. We’re safely on land. Didn’t I tell you we’d be okay?” Though he hadn’t been so sure for a while back there. Every time he thinks he’s lost his partner, every near-death encounter puts another dent in Napoleon’s emotional armor. He didn’t think he could go on much longer without telling Illya how he felt. He was acutely aware they were living on borrowed time.

Illya rubbed at his temple. “Don’t you ever get tired of being right?”

“Not when it means the two of us are still alive.”

“Three,” Tammy’s voice came from behind him. “The three of us.”

Napoleon smiled, hoping he looked sincere. “Of course, that’s what I meant.”

Illya started to push up onto his elbows, but Napoleon tried to press him back. “You should take it easy, you may have a concussion.”

Illya impatiently pulled his hand away. “I don’t have concussion, Napoleon. I know how concussion feels.” He sat up, looking down at himself with disgust. “I hate going for a swim with my clothes on.” He pulled his shirt off over his head, slapping the sodden garment onto a nearby rock, and began to unbutton his pants, peeling the clinging material off his legs.

“Um, Illya…” Napoleon warned, looking in Tammy’s direction.

Tammy waved a hand. “Oh, I’ve seen it all before. I used to be a nurse. We _should_ get out of these wet clothes,” she advised. Uninhibited, she caught the hem of her dress and pulled it off over her head, draping it over some nearby bushes.

Napoleon took a second or two to appreciate the scene – he wasn’t completely immune – and shrugged. It was the sensible thing to do, he supposed. He copied their actions, draping his clothes over the rocks to dry, leaving underwear on for modesty’s sake

Illya groggily tried to stand, but Napoleon pushed him back down to the sand. “Woah, where do you think you’re going?”

“I was going for a look around.” He rubbed his temple.

“I’ll do the looking, okay? Humor me. Just rest for a while.” In truth, Napoleon hadn’t wanted to leave Illya’s side, not till he was sure he was okay. Napoleon held Illya’s gaze and could see Illya reading the concern in his face.

“It might be nice to lay here and lollygag while you do the work, for a change.” He sat back on the sand, draping his hands over folded legs.

“The sun’s almost out and there’s a nice breeze. As soon as our clothes are dry I’ll reconnoiter. It shouldn’t take too long.”

“I hate to ask the obvious, but have you tried your communicator?”

Napoleon retrieved his bunched up jacket and searched his pockets. He pulled the pen out and held it aloft. Water dripped ominously from the devise.

“I don’t think this is going to be much help. Yours, I assume, disappeared along with half your clothes,” Napoleon said, gesturing at Illya’s torn shirt. When Napoleon had dragged him out of the water Illya had on only his shirt, pants and one sock. His slight frame meant his clothes were often ill-fitting; the churning water had relieved him of the rest of his wardrobe.

“Let me see it,” Illya said, holding out his hand for the device. “It’s probably water-logged. If I can take it apart, let it dry out, maybe it’ll work.” He turned to Tammy. “Give me your hairpin.”

Her hand went to her head. “What? No. I need this to keep my hair out of my eyes.”

“And I need it to save our lives.” He reached out and tugged the clip from her hair, ignoring her yelp of pain when several hairs came with it.

Napoleon watched as Illya carefully dismantled his communicator, laying the bits out on a nearby flat rock to dry in the sun. “Don’t touch,” Illya ordered as Tammy reached out an inquisitive finger towards the pieces, before lying back in the sand, and closing his eyes.

 

The tropical heat had their clothing sufficiently dried in a couple of hours. Napoleon regarded each item with distaste as he dressed; they were wrinkled and misshapen by the salty water, beyond even Del Floria’s expertise, he suspected. He donned his shirt and pants and reluctantly left Tammy looking after his partner while he went to explore.

Frankly, he was glad to be alone for a while, to gather his tumultuous thoughts. He’d nearly lost Illya. Again. With each dangerous assignment, the odds of their survival got shorter. It seemed, at times, they lived their lives teetering dangerously close to the edge and one day one of them would go over. It made him realize he was running out of time. He needed to act, let Illya how he felt before it was too late. The thing was, he was pretty sure that Illya felt something, too: the little touches that sometimes felt like a caress; the gaze that lingered longer than was socially acceptable; the obvious pleasure of meeting after a long absence. He felt, at times, that they were on the cusp of taking that final step. He’d come so close to telling him just lately. This time, there would be no prevaricating; he was going to do it. And he was going to do it today. Just as soon as he could get Illya alone.

He walked along the beach, relishing the warm sand between his toes and cautiously clambering over the rough tracts of basalt rocks that littered the beach. To his right, the waves whispered gently against the sand and to the left the rustling palms gave way to dense vegetation. After a while, he came across a line of flotsam washed up high on the sand and looked for odd pieces that might come in useful should they be here longer than anticipated.

He bent to pull up a tangled length of fishing line and studied the balled up mess, as if its chaos could somehow provide inspiration. How? How was he going to broach the subject with Illya? Should he just come right out and say it? Illya usually preferred the direct approach, favoring rational discussion. But like a skittish colt, he needed to be handled with care and patience. If he could just get him alone, somewhere they could talk. But where to start? _Say, Illya, the thing is…_

He was leaning over to pick up a bottle, when he suddenly thought, _But what if I’ve misread the signals? What if I say something and he rejects me? What if the idea disgusts him?_ He’d witnessed Illya rebuff the advances of a man once and it hadn’t been pretty. Granted, the aspirant suitor had been a Thrush operative and deserved Illya’s ire. Then again, he’d seen him rebuff many women, too, Thrush or otherwise. Not Tammy, though. He’d been fairly tolerant of Tammy. Suppose he was interested in her? Illya was so good at playing it cool, it made him hard to read at times.

He stood, transferring the bottle to his other hand, walking slowly as his mind considered the finer details of his problem. Once he’d picked up a few more pieces, and given himself a headache from either the sun or thinking too hard, he decided to turn back.

When he arrived at their temporary encampment, Tammy was sitting with Illya’s head in her lap, stroking his hair like he was a beloved cat; Napoleon could swear he was purring. He felt a mixture of fear and envy. He’d always had a jealous streak when it came to his partner. He didn’t want Illya to be interested in anyone that way. He didn’t want someone else to become important to Illya. _I have first claim_ , he thought.

Illya looked up at Napoleon’s approach and sat up, dislodging Tammy’s hand. “What have you got there?”

Napoleon dropped his booty on the sand and sat on a nearby rock. “Not much, just some debris I thought might be useful.”

Illya was picking through the items: a length of fishing wire, a beer bottle, a plastic container and some plastic sheeting.

“If we can’t find fresh water, we might be able to make a solar still with these,” Napoleon said, holding out a couple of plastic items.

Illya began to untangle the length of fishing line and always thinking of his stomach, asked, “Did you find anything edible?”

Napoleon smiled at Illya’s one track mind. “Coconuts. Lots and lots of coconuts.” He waved the beer bottle at Illya. “This has a concave bottom. We might be able to start a fire.”

“A fire? In this heat?” Tammy asked.

“Once the sun goes down, the temperature will drop. We need to get a fire going before we lose the sun.” Napoleon excused himself to go for a pee and took the opportunity to look for kindling. The sun was starting a slow arc across the sky and once it had gone down, his chance to make a fire would be gone with it.

After Napoleon moved away, Tammy pushed closer to Illya, resting a hand high on his thigh. He looked down at her hand and gently moved it away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Sorry,” she said, not sounding the least bit sorry at all. “Why don’t we go for a walk? Get a little privacy?”

“We should stay together.” He nodded behind him to the dense vegetation. “There may be hidden dangers in there.”

She shivered. “Snakes?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps.” He saw her look of fear and added gently, “Napoleon was a boy scout. He’ll make a fire and that will keep away any unwanted guests and keep us warm.”

She pouted and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I know another way to keep warm.”  

Illya shuffled a few inches away from her. “That’s another of Napoleon’s skills. Perhaps you should talk to him.” He smiled with relief as Napoleon came back with an armful of dried grass and sticks.

Tammy, undeterred by Illya’s rebuff, put her arm though his, watching the sun sparkle on the calm sea. She sighed, “Isn’t this nice? I love the ocean, don’t you?”

Illya looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Napoleon answered, “He hates the ocean.”

“Really?” She turned to Illya. “But it’s so beautiful. What don’t you like about it?”

With sincerity, Illya said, “It’s wet. It’s deep. It’s salty.”

Napoleon laughed to himself as he watched the two of them. When Tammy rested her head against Illya’s shoulder, Napoleon felt that possessive spark blaze in his chest. He was pretty sure there was nothing to be worried about. He didn’t think Illya was in the least bit interested. But there was always that nagging doubt that one day, before he could do anything about it, Illya might find someone he clicked with.

Illya stood suddenly, dislodging Tammy. “I’m going to see about making a shelter while you start a fire, since it looks like we’ll be here for the night.” He left her sitting there with her arms crossed in frustration, and went over to the tree line to gather fallen palm leaves.

Tammy moved across to sit next to Napoleon, who had watched their interaction with amusement. He dropped his bundle of twigs and dried grass on the ground and started picking up large stones, arranging them into a circle to contain the fire.

“I don’t think he likes me,” she whispered.

Napoleon glanced at Illya, who was walking past with armfuls of leaves. “He likes you. He’s just focused right now.”

She regarded the blond, head cocked to one side. Illya was trying to fashion some kind of lean-to with tree branches and palm leaves. “He’s so cute.”

Napoleon followed her gaze. “I guess he is,” he agreed quietly. “Don’t let him hear you call him that, though. In his mind he’s a big, tough, rugged spy.”

They went quiet as Illya walked past again to collect more palm leaves.

“Girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Napoleon looked up from his preparations.

“Does he have a girlfriend?”

“Illya? No, no girlfriend. Not that I know of.”

She continued to watch Illya. “What kind of music does he like?”

“Jazz.”

She pulled a face. “Guess I could learn to like it.”

Napoleon smiled to himself as he arranged the dried grass in the center of the stones. Tammy seemed to have set her sights on Illya. He tried to turn the conversation away from his friend.

“How come you were with Kekoa?”

She smiled at some memory. “Oh, he was very charming when we first met. Handsome, wealthy, his own place in Maui. I thought, at last, this is it. This was Mr. Right. Instead he turned out to be Mr. Wrong.” She pulled a face. “The closet full of submachine guns was my first clue.” She smiled wanly at Napoleon and sighed. “I always had this big plan: married by the time I was twenty one, a house with a white picket fence and kids a couple of years later. Just thought it would happen, you know? I didn’t realize how hard I’d have to work for it. I’ve kissed a lot of frogs these last few years.” She paused for breath. “Does he even like girls?”

“Oh, he likes them just fine.” Yes, he’d seen Illya with women plenty of times, though he knew he didn’t always bed them. He attracted women like flowers attracted bees; he didn’t always let them have the nectar, though.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I like them just fine, too.” He cocked his head from side to side with a smirk.

Tammy chuckled. “No, I mean do you have a girlfriend?”

Napoleon considered his answer. “No one special.”

“They’re all special to Napoleon,” Illya clarified, as he passed by again. He paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. “Let me see… there’s Candy and Honey and Brie and Cherry and Sherry… hm,” he said, head cocked to one side, “You date a lot of women with food or drink related names. Freud could have written a paper on you.” He ducked as Napoleon threw a small stick in his direction.

Tammy smiled. “Had a lot of relationships, huh?”

“I’ve had my fair share,” he said, with false modesty.

“And everyone else’s share,” Illya said, as he walked on to his partly constructed shelter, dropping his leafy burden on the ground.

“No one serious?”

Napoleon was angling the concaved bottom of the bottle to concentrate the sun’s rays onto the dried grass. “Our job doesn’t really give you time to get too involved with someone.”

“Ships in the night, huh? That’s sad. Everyone should have someone to love, don’t you think?”

Napoleon just smiled in response. Yes, everyone should have someone to love, but it had to be the right someone.

He leaned forward as a wisp of smoke drifted up from the ball of dried grass and gently blew across the top to encourage it. Eventually, a lick of flame became visible and Napoleon heaped more dried grass and small twigs on top to feed his burgeoning fire.

He sat relishing the silence for a while, adding larger twigs to nurture the growing flames, but Tammy seemed to have her mind on one thing only. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

His eyebrows rose in his forehead. Did he? “No,” he said, adamantly, with a shake of his head. Suddenly uncomfortable with her questions, he rose. “Keep an eye on the fire. I’ll go and give Illya a hand. We need to finish the shelter before the sun goes down.”

As he joined Illya in lashing branches together with the fishing line he’d found, he couldn’t help but think about Tammy’s question. No, Napoleon didn’t believe in love at first sight; he couldn’t see how it was possible. He believed in lust at first sight, or at least attraction at first sight. Napoleon had been attracted to Illya when they’d first met: those eyes, that hair, that full lower lip - how could he not? He was a man who appreciated beauty in all its forms.

But love… love is a gradual process cultivated over time. It comes softly, sometimes unexpectedly, through mutual respect and shared experiences. It made your heart beat faster when you met and made it ache when you separated.

Napoleon sighed to himself. He had it bad. He hadn’t meant to fall in love with his partner. He knew from experience that love and the loss of that love was an intensely painful thing. He’d never wanted to love again after his wife’s death, but somehow, imperceptibly, Illya had slipped under his skin. He’d just never had the courage to do anything about it. Yet. He hoped to change that, soon.

He glanced up at Illya, who gave him a lopsided grin that made Napoleon feel warm inside. He grinned back, content despite their situation. Illya was by his side, all was right with the world.

 

The next morning, Napoleon was the first to rise, having spent a restless night. Illya, who could sleep on a bed of broken glass, snored quietly on with Tammy snuggled against his back, so Napoleon left him to enjoy a much needed rest.

He spent a few minutes reassembling the communicator and walked down to the surf. It was a beautiful morning, the sun just starting to peek over the horizon, reflecting on the sea in golds and reds. A zephyr gently tousled his hair and he turned his face into the breeze, inhaling the sweet smelling air. The only thing that would make this moment more perfect was if Illya stood beside him to share the sunrise.

Holding his breath and keeping his fingers crossed, he activated the device. “Open Channel F. Can anyone hear me?”

“Mr. Solo!”

Startled, Napoleon almost jumped at the response. “Alana?”

“We were starting to worry. You’ve missed two check-ins.”

Napoleon breathed a sigh of relief. “Alana, my sweet. We, ah, ran into a little storm and ended up stranded. Do you think you could send someone to collect us?”

“Absolutely. Turn on the tracker on your communicator and we’ll have someone come pick you up.”

“Thanks. Oh. They’ll need a helicopter.”

“A helicopter? Where are you?”

Napoleon looked around; there was ocean as far as the eye could see. “Slap dash in the middle of nowhere.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“Actually…” he looked up at the rising sun and added, “The sun’s just about up, the breeze is cool and for once nobody’s shooting at us. So, take your time, we’re in no rush.”

He signed off and intuitively felt Illya’s approach as he capped his communicator. He turned towards him, waving the pen around. “I got through. They’re on their way.”

“Did you ask for a helicopter?”

“I did.”

“Good.” Illya ran his fingers through his disorganized hair, leaving it sticking out in all directions. Napoleon reached out and smoothed it down, earning himself an indulgent smile.

“You’re just in time,” Napoleon said.

“For?”

“Sharing the sunrise with me.”

Illya moved to his side, his shoulder brushing against Napoleon’s, and stared out over the sea. Napoleon glanced at him, relishing this intimate moment, and was about to rest his arm across Illya’s shoulders – until Tammy’s shrill call spoiled the mood.

Napoleon rolled his eyes and sighed. “Your shadow’s looking for you,” he said, gesturing towards her. She stood near the edge of the jungle, waving at them.

Illya bent down to pick up a flat stone and sent it skipping across the waves. “She’s like a limpet.”

“She’s not that bad,” Napoleon said in her defense.

“You like her so much, take her. She’s all yours.”

Napoleon picked up a stone, too, and spun it, trying to beat Illya’s four bounces. “That’s very generous of you. However, I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in a beautiful woman? Now I know you’ve had too much sun.”

“She’s not my type.”

“No? She’s blond and she’s female. She’s your type.”

“Well, you’re half right.”

“And I know which half.”

“I’m not sure you do,” Napoleon murmured quietly as he turned and walked back up the beach. He didn’t look back as he left his friend chewing over that last statement. He was the smartest man Napoleon knew, but when it came to matters of the heart, Illya had the characteristics and experience of a seasoned monk.

Trouble was, Napoleon was no nearer a solution about how to say what he wanted to say. Maybe today wasn’t the best time to make his move, with Tammy a constant presence. Maybe, it would be better to wait till they got home. He could invite Illya over, tempt him with a hot dinner and cold vodka and hope he could tempt him to something else. Some quiet jazz on the turntable, soft lighting, a cozy fire…

He sighed aloud. Why was this so difficult? He wasn’t a novice when it came to romance. Women were easy to woo, they had certain expectations that Napoleon understood and happily delivered.   Men were riskier to pursue; signals easier to misinterpret, the risk of discovery too dangerous. But all of those trysts were merely a means to an end, physical encounters for sexual gratification with no promises and no commitments. With Illya it had to be different. With Illya, he wanted to make promises, wanted commitment.

He wouldn’t pressure Illya if he balked at the thought, but he wouldn’t give up, either. He knew, just _knew,_ there was a connection between them. He just had to take his time bringing Illya round to his way of thinking. Napoleon was a patient man – he could wait.

 

To stave off boredom till rescue arrived, the two partners fashioned a chess game, of sorts, marking a board out in the sand and using an assortment of pebbles and shells for chess pieces. Tammy sat close beside Illya for a while, not in the least interested in the game, her gaze flitting between the horizon and Illya’s face.

Illya sat cross legged, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned over the improvised ‘board’ to study the layout. Napoleon, meanwhile, covertly studied him. He enjoyed looking at Illya when he was like this, relaxed and unaware, his brow creased in concentration while considering a problem. Napoleon felt warmth and affection swell his chest.

Illya looked up suddenly with a grin before moving a small black pebble. “You’re in danger of losing your Cowry shell.”

Napoleon wasn’t surprised. He wasn’t really concentrating on the game; he had other things on his mind. “Well, you already have my, er,” he picked up a conical shaped shell, “bishop, you may as well take that, too.”

Tammy suddenly stood. “Well, you boys enjoy your game. I’m off to catch some rays.” She trailed a hand over Illya’s shoulder before she walked away and to Napoleon’s dismay, he smiled warmly up at her as she left.

Napoleon watched Illya, while Illya intently watched Tammy. He suddenly seemed to be captivated by the sway of her hips as she ambled sinuously down to the beach, turning his head to one side to change his perspective. He’d never seen Illya pay much attention to her before, but as she pulled off her dress down to her bra and pants and settled back on the sand, he noticed Illya’s thumb rubbing against his finger, a habit that showed he was perturbed.

Napoleon was disheartened by Illya’s interest. Perhaps he was more attracted to her than he’d realized. After all, Tammy was pretty and made her intent obvious in her single minded pursuit of his partner. Why wouldn’t Illya succumb to her evident charms?

He felt his earlier optimism slipping away as Illya rose to his knees, dusting off the seat of his pants, and his heart cramped with the painful realization that Illya might go after her. If he walked down there to join her, Napoleon knew he’d lost. He felt the ache of defeat begin to settle in his chest and ducked his head so Illya wouldn’t see the look on his face.

When Illya’s hand grasped his chin and pulled his head up, Napoleon froze in confusion. When Illya leant towards him, pressing their lips together, the shock of it made Napoleon tense up. Before he could respond Illya suddenly withdrew, a look of abject horror on his face. As he tried to move away, Napoleon grabbed hold of his hand, keeping him in place.

“Wait!”

“I’m s..sorry. I thought--,” Illya started, but Napoleon quickly interrupted his words, pressing his lips hard against Illya’s, almost savage in its desperation. He forced himself to soften his assault, reining in his passion, willing his heart to slow its frenetic pace as he let his mouth express what words couldn’t. Once he was sure Illya understood, Napoleon pulled away slowly. Stunned, Illya touched a finger to his lips and said softly “Oh…”

Napoleon grinned, his heart swelling with the realization that Illya wanted him. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not. You just took me by surprise.” He rubbed a thumb over Illya’s lower lip. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

Illya glanced over at Tammy, who had turned over onto her front to get an even tan. “What you said this morning, on the beach… I thought, perhaps …” He shrugged, unable to articulate.

Napoleon reached out to push Illya’s hair out of his eyes. Just like that. All that worry for nothing; it hadn’t been that difficult at all. The shackles of apprehension slipped away leaving him feeling light headed.

Napoleon rose, brushing the sand from his knees. “Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested.

He stood, Illya following behind as they walked along the dunes and into the shelter of the greenery.   Checking over his shoulder to make sure they were out of sight of Tammy, Napoleon took Illya by the hand and pulled him over to a fallen palm tree. He sat on the trunk, patting the space beside him, pleased when Illya sat close enough to touch, and let his bare foot rub casually against Illya’s while he contemplated what to say.

He felt suddenly hesitant, uncharacteristically lost for words. His usual lines wouldn’t work here, nor would he want to use them. No corny, romantic quotes from the Rubaiyat about a Jug of Wine , a Loaf of Bread and Thou. No comment that his hair was like spun gold – although it was – and comparing his lips to ripe cherries – though they were. No, nothing so trite. Yet, hadn’t he rehearsed this scenario a thousand times in his head? And now the moment had arrived, words failed him.

“So…” Napoleon said, to fill the silence.

“So,” Illya repeated, looking at him. Both men broke out into a grin. Napoleon shook his head. He felt giddy with happiness. He hadn’t felt like this since he’d been a teen, sneaking his first kiss with Chrissie Appleby behind the bleachers at school.

Illya spoke first. “This is a first. I seem to have rendered you speechless.”

“I don’t know why. I’ve fantasized about this so often.”

Illya looked amazed. “You have?”

Napoleon nodded. “Mm-hm.” Napoleon chuckled. “You beat me to the punch.” His hand rose, the back of his fingers lightly touching Illya’s cheek. “We’ve wasted a lot of time.”

“We can make that time up.”

Napoleon tipped his head and smiled. “Should be fun trying.”

Illya suddenly found the dirt under his fingernails interesting. “Napoleon, we put our lives in danger with every assignment. Every time I see you hurt…” Illya turned to look at him. “Out there, when the storm capsized the boat… I thought…” He took a deep, steadying breath and said, with passion, “With Thrush you have something solid, something familiar to fight against. The sea is…” Illya shook his head. “…insubstantial, unpredictable. You can’t outwit it or shoot it or run from it. It made me realize I was running out of time. I wanted to let you know how I felt before it was too late.”

Napoleon understood what Illya was trying to say. Hadn’t he had the same thoughts? He put his arm around trembling shoulders. “Hey, even the sea can’t beat us when we’re together. Though I will admit, for a while back there, I thought I’d lost you this time.”

Illya smiled. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t want to.” He squeezed the shoulder beneath his hand. “I can’t imagine my life without you anymore

His hand moved across, brushing against Illya’s collar bone before resting on the back of Illya’s neck, massaging, trying to relax tense muscles, while he considered how to bring up the next question.

“So, before we go any further…” Napoleon said slowly, clearing his throat before he spoke. “I guess we should have _the_ talk.”

Illya rolled his eyes. “Is it the one about the bears and the bees? Because, frankly, Napoleon, I think I’m too old for that conversation.”

“Birds and bees,” Napoleon automatically corrected.

Illya frowned. “What?”

“You said ‘bears and bees’. The expression is ‘birds and bees’.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“And ‘bears and bees’ does?”

“Of course,” Illya replied, straight-faced. “They both like honey.”

This was one of the things Napoleon loved about Illya; his subtle humor and the ease in which they fell into playful banter. Their interaction was so comfortable. It was one of the reasons he’d let his guard down around his friend.

But entertaining as it was, he couldn’t let Illya side track him. He had a serious question that needed a serious answer. He let out the deep breath he’d been holding with a sigh. “What I’m trying to ask you is… have you ever been with a man.”

“No.” Illya flushed and looked away. “It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, because I have. But you’re the only man I’d ever trust enough to consider having sex with, Napoleon.” He gave Napoleon a sideways glance. “Having said that, I’m pretty sure I’d know what goes where.” He shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

“It can be hard. No pun intended,” he added at Illya’s smirk.

The sudden sound of Tammy calling for them pulled them a modest distance apart. Napoleon sighed as she came into view. “Never a moment’s peace. I’ll be glad to get home.”

“I’ll go see what she wants,”Illya said, sliding to the ground. “Don’t go anywhere.” He started to walk away backwards, holding Napoleon’s gaze, and winked before turning round and walking off.

Napoleon took a deep, calming breath as he watched him walk away. Just like that, so easy and just as he thought it would never happen. From partner to friend and soon-to-be lover. His future suddenly got brighter.

He watched as Illya reached Tammy and saw Illya suddenly grab her hand, pulling her towards where Napoleon sat. Concerned, he stood.

Illya was slightly winded when he reached Napoleon. “There’s a boat coming,” he said, gesturing towards the sea.

Napoleon looked towards where Illya pointed, unsure he heard it at first, but then the distant putt-putt sound of a boat’s engine grew gradually louder.

They held back behind a tree in case Kekoa’s men had somehow found them, but as the boat drew closer, even from this distance, Napoleon could easily recognize the fiery red hair of Section Three’s Martin Renshaw. He broke cover, running down the beach and waving excitedly to get Martin’s attention.

The boat beached in the shallows and Martin leapt into knee-deep water and waded to shore. “Someone call for a taxi?”

Napoleon laughed. “Are we glad to see you.”

Illya came up beside him and looked at the boat in dismay. “Where’s the helicopter?”

Martin shrugged. “Budget constraints. Anyway, Napoleon said there was no rush.”

“Did he, now,” Illya muttered, giving the small skiff a look of dismay. “Couldn’t you find a bigger boat?”

Martin grinned, familiar with Illya’s grumpiness. “Well, the Queen Mary was unavailable, so this will have to do. Illya, don’t worry. You’re just an hour’s boat ride away from a hot tub and hotter coffee.” Martin’s smile widened suddenly when he looked over Napoleon’s shoulder. “Well, hello. Who do we have here?”

Tammy pushed between the two agents, holding out her hand. “I’m Tammy Lee. Pleased to meet you, I’m sure.”

Martin kissed the back of her hand. “I must have landed on Treasure Island. You’re a real diamond.”

Illya looked at Napoleon and both men rolled their eyes.

“Can we get going, please?” Napoleon said. “Illya hasn’t eaten since yesterday morning and you know how cranky he gets.”

“Oh, sure. Here, ma’am, don’t get your feet wet,” Martin said, picking Tammy up in his arms.

“Oh, my.” Tammy wound her arms around the red-haired agent’s neck as he waded into the sea towards the boat and deposited her gently on the bench seat.

Illya exchanged an exasperated sigh with Napoleon. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate the sea?”

Napoleon chuckled and bent over to pick a protesting Illya up in a fireman’s carry. “Here, don’t say I never do anything for you,” he said, aping Martin’s actions. Martin grinned at him, gallantly holding out a hand for Illya, who gave him a withering glare. Once Illya was settled in the back of the boat, Napoleon put his shoulder to the skiff and pushed it off the sand, jumping in to sit beside Illya.

As Martin revved the engine and turned the boat about, Tammy moved forward to sit beside him.

Napoleon watched Tammy, who was giggling at something Martin said, and smiled to himself. One problem solved, he thought, grateful that she was transferring her interest onto another man. This one was no longer available. He reached out, finding Illya’s hand, pleased to feel calloused fingers curl around his. They kept their hands locked between them all the way back.

 

_UNCLE HQ, Kahului_

They walked Tammy down to the underground parking area and Illya hung back as Napoleon walked her to a waiting UNCLE taxi. ‘Goodbyes’ was Napoleon’s forte, not his.

Tammy turned towards Napoleon as he opened the door of the waiting car. He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and briefly touched her cheek. “Time to go back to your normal life.”

“And my boring job.”

“Boring can be safe.”

“Yes, it can.” She chuckled. “Please don’t take this personally, but I hope I never see you both again. I don’t think my nerves can take it.”

Napoleon smiled. “Trust me, you’re not the first person to say that.”

“ _Having_ said that, that was one hell of a ride. And I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Say goodbye to Illya for me.” She glanced over at Napoleon’s partner, standing with his arms folded over his chest. “It’s a shame things didn’t work out between us.”

“Don’t be offended, he’s difficult to pin down.”

She looked back at Napoleon with pursed lips. “You didn’t seem to have any trouble.” At Napoleon’s questioning look, she cocked her head to one side and added, “You two are lousy spies, you know that? When I was sunbathing …” She leaned over and whispered in his ear, “…I saw you cozying up together.”

Shocked, Napoleon swallowed hard. “Look, Tammy, I’m sorry—“

She waved away his concern. “Oh, don’t be. I understand.” She shrugged. “Hey, I kissed a girl in college once.” She leaned back, smiling. “I never stood a chance with you around, did I?” She playfully pulled at his tie. “Who could compete with you?”

Napoleon smiled ruefully. “If it’s any consolation that was the first time we’d, ah, cozied up.”

“Really? What took you so long? He’s gorgeous.”

Napoleon’s head tilted from side to side. “Like I said, he can be difficult to pin down.”

She sighed and looked over at Illya, who now stood glowering in their direction. “You’re lucky to have him. He’s quite a catch.”

Napoleon regained his equilibrium and smiled. “That he is,” he agreed.

“Anyway… I already have a date lined up.”

“Martin,” Napoleon stated confidently. It would have been difficult not to miss the chemistry between the two. On the boat ride home, she seemed to have forgotten they existed, sitting hip to hip with Martin, deep in conversation.

She nodded. “Every cloud has a silver lining, huh? I’m taking it slow, this time.” She ducked her head as she started to get into the car. She paused and looked back at him. “Make sure you move faster.”

“I’ll put my running shoes on.” He waited till she was settled in the back, pushed the door closed and waved as it drove away.

Napoleon sauntered back to his partner. “Shall we?” Napoleon gestured in the direction of his car, eager to get them both back to their hotel and fulfill some of his earlier fantasies.

Illya walked beside him, shoulder to shoulder. “You and she looked… intimate.”

“Did we? Just saying goodbye.”

“To what? Lost opportunities?”

“Nope. To dating women like Candy, Honey, Cherry … well, the whole convenience store. Consider me no longer available.”

Illya slowed to a stop. “Pardon me?”

Napoleon walked back a couple of paces and pulled him behind a pillar out of sight of the security cameras. He took a deep breath, resting his hands on Illya’s shoulders. “Listen. It’s taken us a long time to get to this point. Now we’re here, I don’t want to screw it up. From now on,” he punched lightly at Illya’s shoulder, “…it’s just you and me, kiddo.”

Illya sighed. “Napoleon, considering your past record, do you realistically think you could sleep with only one person?”

“Illya, I don’t just want someone to sleep with, I want someone to wake up with.” He stood still while Illya stared at him intently, almost hearing the cogs turning over as Illya considered his words, looked for the truth in Napoleon’s eyes. He gently rested his palm against Illya’s cheek. “What I’m trying to say is I don’t need anyone else. I have you.”

Illya’s smile was slow and wicked. “You haven’t had me yet.” His answer, full of promise, made Napoleon’s heart hammer faster. Forgetting where they were, he started to lean in for a kiss, but Illya moved back and away with a cheeky grin, walking briskly towards Napoleon’s car. He turned to call back to Napoleon who was still standing where he’d left him. “Are you coming?”

“If I’m lucky,” Napoleon murmured to himself, before hurrying to catch up.

**THE END**


End file.
